Golfer9* 


fl\ulkutftit 


Ofitcago 


The  Golfer's  Rubaiyat 


TTTAKE!  for  the  sun  has 

driven  in  equal  flight 

The  stars  before   him  from 

the  Tee  of  Night, 
And  holed  them  every  one 

without  a  Miss, 
Swinging  at  ease  his  gold- 
shod  Shaft  of  Light. 


-  *» ™ 


TTTAKE,  Loiterer!  for  al- 
ready Dawn  is  seen 
With  her  red  marker  on  the 

eastern  Green, 
And  summons  all  her  Lit- 
tle Ones  to  change 
A  joyous  Three  for  every  sad 
Thirteen. 


A  ND   as   the   Cock   crew, 

"^^    those  who  stood  before 

The    first    Tee     murmur'd: 

"Just    this    chance    to 

score, 

You  know  how  little  while 

we  have  to  play, 
And,  once  departed,  may  re- 
turn no  more." 


IV 

TVTOW  the  fresh  Year,  re- 
viving- old  Desires, 
The  thoughtful  Soul  to  Soli- 
tude retires, 

Pores    on    this    Club   and 
That  with  anxious  eye, 
And  dreams  of  Rounds  be- 
yond the  Rounds  of  Liars. 


CAMPBELL  indeed  is  past 


V^ 


with  all  his  Fame, 


And  old  Tom  Morris  now  is 

but  a  name; 
But  many  a  Jamie  by  the 

Bunker  blows, 
And  many  a  Willie  rules  us, 

just  the  same. 


A  THOUSAND  lips   are 
"    lockt:  but  still  in  hoar 


High -balling:    Andrew's 

Shrine,  with  "Fore,  fore, 

fore! 
Oh,  fore!"  the  Golfer  to  the 

Duffer  cries, 
That  reddened  cheek  of  his 

to  redden  more. 


choose  your  Ball, 
and  in  the  fire  of  Spring 
Your    Red    Coat,   and    your 

wooden  Putter  fling; 
The  Club  of  Time  has  but 

a  little  while 

To  waggle,  and  the  Club  is 
on  the  swing. 


VIII 

TTTHETHER  at  Mussel- 
burgh  or  Shinnecock, 
In   motley  Hose  or  humbler 

motley  Sock, 
The  Cup  of  Life  is  ebbing 

Drop  by  Drop, 
Whether  the  Cup   be    filled 
with  Scotch  or  Bock. 


Hfi 


IX 

TTACH  Morn  a  thousand 
•"    Matches   brings,  you 

say; 
Yes,  but  who  plays  the  Match 

of  Yesterday? 
And  this  first  Summer 

month  of  opening  Greens 
Shall  take  this  Championship 

and  That  away. 


AAAAAAJ 


T  T  TELL,  let  it  take  them! 

*  *      What  have  we  to  do 

With    Championships,    or, 

Champion,  with  you? 
Let  This  or  Other  struggle 

as  he  will, 

For  him  alone  the  Strife  — 
for  him  to  rue. 


XI 

T  T  TITH  me  along  the  strip 

*  *      of  sandy  Down 
That  just  divides  the  Desert 

from  the  sown, 
Where  name  of  Shop  and 

Study  is  forgot, — 
And  Peace  to  Croker  on  his 
golden  Throne! 


XII 

A    BAG  of  Clubs,  a  SilYer- 
^^    Town  or  two, 
A  Flask  of  Scotch,  a  Pipe  of 

Shag— and  Thou 
Beside  me  caddying  in  the 

Wilderness  — 

Ah,  Wilderness  were  Para- 
dise enow. 


XIII 

Q*OME   for   the   weekly 
v^    Handicap;  and  some 
Sigh  for  a  greater  Champion- 
ship to  come: 
Ah,  play  the  Match,  and  let 

the  Medal  go, 

Nor  heed  old  Bogey  with  his 
wretched  Sum. 


XIV 

T  OOK  to  the  blowing  Rows 

about  us— "Lo, 
"Strolling,"  they  say,  "over 

the  course  we  go, 
"And    here    or    there    we 

lightly  flick  the  Ball, 
"Turn,    and    the    Trick    is 
done— in  So-and-so." 


XV 

"OUT  those  who  keep  their 
^    Cards  and  turn  them  in, 
And  those  who  weekly  Handi- 
caps may  win, 
Alike  to  no  such  aureate 

Fame  are  brought, 
As,  buried  once,  Men  want 
dug  up  again. 


shining:  Cup  men  set 
their  hearts  upon 
Is    lost   to    them — or   won 

them;  and  anon, 
Like  a  good  Three  set  in 

a  bald  Three-score, 
That   Glory  gleams  a  mo- 
ment—  and  is  gone. 


XVII 

,  in  this  worn,  for- 
lorn  old  Field  of  Play, 
Whose    Green  -  keepers     in 
turn  are  Night  and  Day, 
How  Champion  after  Cham- 
pion with  his  Pomp 
Abode  his  destin'd  Hour  and 
went  his  way. 


XVIII 

say  the  Female  and 
the  Duffer  strut 
On  sacred  Greens  where  Mor- 
ris used  to  putt; 
Himself  a  natural  Hazard 

now,  alas! 

That  nice  Hand  quiet  now, 
that  great  Eye  shut. 


XIX 

T  SOMETIMES  think  that 

never  springs  so  green 
The    Turf   as    where    some 

Good  Fellow  has  been, 
And  every  emerald  Stretch 

the  Fair  Green  shows 
His    kindly    Tread    has 
known,  his  sure  Play 
seen. 


A  ND  this  reviving  Herb 
"^^    whose  tender  green 
Muffles  the  fair  white  Sphere 

o'er  which  we  lean, 
Ah,  curse  it  gently,  for  here 

Jamie  once  — 

Great  Jamie— lay,  and  fetch'd 
a  bad  Thirteen. 


XXI 

A~fl,  my  Beloved,  play  the 
Round  that  offers 
TO-DAY  some  joy,  whatever 

To-morrow  suffers: 
To-morrow!— why,  to-mor- 
row I  may  be 

Myself  with  Yesterday's 
Sev'n  thousand  Duffers. 


AND  some  we  loved,  the 
"    feeblest  with  a  Club, 
Ordain'd  to  sclaff,  to  foozle, 

and  to  flub, 
Have   turned   in  Cards   a 

Round  or  two  before, 
And  played  that  final  Green 
without  a  Rub. 


XXIII 

A  ND  we  that  now  make 
•"•    merry  on  the  Green 
They  left,  and   Summer 

dresses  in  new  sheen, 
Ourselves  must  we  beneath 

the  springing  Turf 
Add  our  Ell  to  the  Bunker  of 
Has-been. 


XXIV 

AH,  make  the  most  of  what 
^^    we  yet  may  spend 
Before  we  too  into  the  Dust 

descend; 
Dust  into  dust,  and  under 

Dust  to  lie, 

Sans  Breath,  sans  Golf,  sans 
Golfer,  and— sans  End! 


XXV 

A  LIKE  for  those  who  for 
"    TO-DAY  prepare, 
And  those  who  after  some 

TO-MORROW  stare, 
A  Keeper  from  the  Links 

of  Darkness  cries 
Fools,  your  Reward  is  neither 
Here  nor  There. 


TTTHY,  all  the  Toms  and 

*  *      Jamies  who  discuss'd 

Of  the  True  Art  so  wisely— 

they  are  thrust 
Like  foolish  prophets  forth; 

their  Words  to  Scorn 
Are  scatter'd,  and  their 
Mouths  are  stopt  with 
Dust. 


XXVII 

Y  SELF  when    young 

did  eagerly  frequent 
Jamie  and   His,  and    heard 

great  argument 
Of  Grip  and    Stance   and 

Swing;  but  evermore 
Found   at   the    Exit   but    a 
Dollar  spent. 


TTTITH  them   the  seed 
of  Wisdom  did  I  sow, 
And  with  mine   own  hand 
sought  to  make  it  grow; 
And  this  was  all  the  Har- 
vest that  I  reap'd — 
"You  hold  it  This  Way,  and 
you  swing  it  So." 


XXIX 

PATIENT  l  fared  to  many 

*•       a  sacred  Spot, 

Ev'n  at  the  Shrine  of  Andrew 

cast  my  lot, 
And  many  a  Knot  unravel'd 

by  the  Road; 
But  not,  alas!   of  Golf  the 

Master-knot. 


XXX 

was  a  Green  for 
which  I  found  no  Tee, 
And  a  blind  Bunker  which  I 

might  not  see: 
Out  of  the  distant  Dark  a 

Voice  cries  "Fore!" 
And  then — and  then  no  more 
of  Thee  and  Me. 


XXXI 

S  then  the  Sparrow  for 

his  morning  Crumb, 
Do  thou  each  Morrow  to  the 

First  Tee  come, 
And  play  thy  quiet  Round, 

till  crusty  Age 

Condemn  thee  to  a  hopeless 
Dufferdom. 


•pERPLEXT  no  more  with 
Where  or  How  or  Why, 


Thy  easy  fingers  to  the  Shaft 

apply, 
Content  to  send  away  a  fair 

straight  Ball, 
Though    follow'd  earthward 

by  the  naked  Eye. 


XXXIII 

ND  if  the  Ball  you  drive, 

the  Shaft  you  press, 
End  in  what  all  begins  and 

ends  in  —  Yes; 
Thank  Heav'n  you  play  TO- 
DAY as  YESTERDAY 
You  p  1  ay 'd— TO-MORROW 
you  shall  not  do  less. 


if  the  Master  of  the 
Handicap 
At  last  shall  find  you  come 

without  Mishap, 
Though  without  Glory,  to 

turn  in  the  Card 
He  has  expected  of  your  sort 
of  Chap. 


XXXV 

TTTHAT  though  a  Fluke 
should  fling  your 
Class  aside, 
And  Best    Gross  be  your 

momentary  pride: 
Are  you  a  Golfer  more  than 

when  last  week 
You    did   YOUR  best,  and 
barely  saved  your  Hide? 


like    a   private    Bar 
where  for  a  Day 
Innumerable    Rickies    come 

your  way, 
Happy — but  on  the  morrow 

happier  far 

Had  there  been  less  to  drink 
and  more  to  pay. 


XXXVII 

A  ND  fear  not  lest  the  Fair 
^^    Green  after  your 
Ill-luck  and  mine  should  yield 

Bad  Lies  no  more; 
One  or   two   Others   may 

fare  ill  as  you: 
Nay,  even  three,  or  maybe — 
maybe  four. 


XXXVIII 

TT  THEN  you  and  I   our 

*  *      final    Match    have 

play'd, 

Think  not  the    ever-spring- 
ing Green  shall  fade; 
Which  of  our  Coming  and 

Departure  heeds 
As  Caddies  heed  the  Bag,— 
their  Quarter  paid. 


XXXIX 

A    MOMENT'S  Flight  — a 
^^    momentary  Flick 
Of  Being  from  the  Providen- 
tial Stick, 

And  Lo!— -the  phantom  hu- 
man Sphere  has  reacht 
The  NOTHING  it  set  out  from— 
Ah,  be  quick! 


lAAAAAAMiMAAAAAA 


XL 

T  T  TOULD  you  that  Fillip 

of  Existence  spend 
About  THE    SECRET— 

quick  about  it,  Friend! 
A  Hair  perhaps  divides  the 

False  and  True, 
And  upon  what,  prithee,  does 
this  Golf  depfend? 


XLI 

HAIR  perhaps  divides 

the  False  and  True, 
Yes,  and  a  single  Jamie  were 

the  Clue— 
Could  you  but  find  him  — 

to  the  Championship, 
And  peradventure  to  the 
Champion  too. 


XLII 

ND  yet  what  matter  who 


a  Moment  reigns? 
'Tis  not  for  such  a  Toy  you 

take  your  pains; 
To  play  the  steady,  simple, 

honest  Game; 

That  is  the  Joy  and  Credit 
that  remains. 


bravo!  Four— 
Approach  and  Clean 


XLV 

TT  TASTE  not  your  Hour, 

nor  try  in  vain  to  fix 

The  How  and  Why  —  some 

wondrous  Brew  to  mix; 

Better  be  jocund  with  a  calm 

Two-score 

Than   sadden   for   a   bitter 
Thirty-six. 


QJTRANGE,  is  it  not?— 
v^    that  of  the  myriads  who 


Into  the  Out-of-Bounds  have 

late  play'd  through, 
Not  one  returns  to  tell  us 
of  the  Stroke 

To   guarantee   the  shortest 
Hole  in  Two. 


XLVII 

Ball  no   question 
makes  of  Ayes   and 
Noes, 
But  Here  or  There  as  strikes 

the  Player  goes, 
And  ye  who   play  behold 

the  Ball  fly  clean, 
Or  roll  a  Rod;  but  why?  Who 
knows?  Who  knows? 


XLVIII 

swinging   Brassie 
strikes;  and,  having 
struck, 
Moves  on:  nor  all  your  Wit 

or  future  Luck 
Shall  lure  it  back  to  cancel 

half  a  Stroke, 

Nor  from  the  Card  a  single 
Seven  pluck. 


O  hope  by  Club  or  Ball 

to  win  the  Prize : 
The  batter'd,  blacken'd  Re- 
made sweetly  flies, 
Swept  cleanly  from  the  Tee; 

this  is  the  truth: 
Nine-tenths  is  Skill,  and  all 
the  rest  is  Lies. 


1AAAAAA 


AND  that  inverted  Ball 
"    they  call  the  High— 
By  which  the  Duffer  thinks 

to  live  or  die, 
Lift  not  your  hands  to  IT 

for  help,  for  it 

As  impotently  froths  as  you 
or  I. 


Earth's  first  Clay  was 
the  last  Golfer  framed, 
And  that  last  Golfer's  latest 

Score  was  named 
When  the  first  Morning  of 

Creation  sang          \ 
The    Dirge   of  every  Duffer 
Golf  has  claimed. 


LIII 

T  TELL  you  this— When, 
^    after  youth  was  past, 
A  kindly  Heav'n  gave  me  to 

Golf  at  last; 
No  Freedom  but  I  gladly 

barter'd  for 
The  satisfying  Bond  that 

holds  me  fast. 


A  ND  this  I  know:  there  is 
•^    a  Charm  about 


The  quiet  State  of  Golf,  tho' 

fools  may  flout, 
That  with  its  magic  has 

unlocked  the  Door 
Of  Happiness  they  only  howl 

without. 

*         * 


LV 

A  S  under  cover  of  depart- 
"    ing  Day 
Slinks  the  defeated  Duffer  on 

his  way, 

Once  more  within  the  Mak- 
er's house  alone 
I  stood,  surrounded  by  the 
Tools  of  Play. 


of  all   Sorts  and 
Sizes,  great  and  small, 
That  stood  along  the   floor 

and  by  the  wall; 
And  some  old  batter'd  Vet- 
erans were;  and  some 
Had  swung  perhaps,   but 
never  driv'n  at  all. 


LVII 

one  among  them — 
"  Surely  not  for  naught 
Tom    Morris    fashion'd    me 

with  anxious  thought, 
Has  not  my  Form  won 
many  a  Match  and  Cup? 
And  yet— and  yet— I  am  no 
longer  bought." 


LVIII 

'-pHEN    said    a   Second— 
•*•      "Hear    the    Codger 

croak ! 
Sure  he  would  make  of  Golf 

an  ancient  Joke; 
But  Me-— just  think!  a 

modern  Willie  Park, 
My  fickle  Owner  cannot  sell 
nor  soak!" 


LIX 

A  FTER  a  momentary  si- 
•"•    lence  spake 
A  Brassie  of  a  more  ungainly 

make  — 
"They  sneer  at   me   for 

leaning  all  awry: 
Well,  then,  I  ask  who  won 
the  last  Sweepstake?0 


LX 

TT  THEREAT    some   one 

*         of  the  loquacious  Lot, 

I  think  a  putting  Niblick, 

or  if  not, 
A  driving  Putter,  or  a 

goose-neck'd  Cleek  — 
"Pray,  what  is  Golf  then, — 
and  the  Golfer  what?" 


LXI 

Y,"    said    another, 
"Some   there   are 
who  say 
That  Golf  is  but  a  Game  that 

Golfers  play, 
And  some  that  Life  is  but 

a  mighty  Green, 
And  Golf  the  Art  to  use  it 
day  by  day." 


Fellow  come  along, 


LXIII 

one  and  one  and  one 
I  heard  them  speak: 
"Ah,  Friends,"  said  I,  "'tis 

not  a  Make  we  seek, 
A  Duffer  arm'd  with  all  the 

Clubs  there  be 
What  is  he  to  a  Player  with 
aCleek?" 


LXIV 

T  ATELY,    agape    beside 
"^    the  door  of  Fame, 
Sudden  a  Touch  upon  my 

shoulder  came, 
And  thro*  the  Dusk  an 

Angel  Shape  held  out 
The  greater  Guerdon;  and  it 

was  —  the  Game! 


LXV 

'"pHE  Game  that  can  with 
^     Logic  absolute 
The  Dronings  of  the  Sober- 
heads  confute, 
Silence  the  scoffing  ones, 

and  in  a  trice 

Life's  leaden  metal  into  Gold 
transmute. 


TNDEED,  the  brave  Game 

I  have  loved  so  well 
Has  little  taught  me  how  to 

buy  or  sell; 
Has  pawn'd  my  Greatness 

for  an  Hour  of  Ease, 
And  barter'd  cold  Cash  for— 
a  Miracle. 


LXVII 

TNDEED,    indeed,    Repent- 

•*•    ance  oft  before 

I  swore  — but  it  was  Winter 

when  I  swore, 
And  then  and  then  came 
Spring,  and    Club-in- 
hand 

I  hasten'd  forth  for  one  Round 
—one  Round  more. 


rarasffl 
d|p 

» 


LXVIII 

UT  much  as  Golf  has 

play'd  the  Infidel, 
And  robb'd  me  of  my  worldly 

Profit  — 
I  often  wonder  what  the 

Grubbers  earn 
One  half  so  precious  as  the 
Joy  they  sell. 


LXIX 

TT  THAT!  for  a  senseless 
Bank-Account    to 
wreak 
Their  manly  Strength  on 

Ledgers,  till  too  weak 
To  swing  a  club? — So 

Caddies  calmly  tread 
In  Mire  the  Ball  Heav'n  sent 
them  here  to  seek. 


LXX 

TTTHAT!   as  a  poor  dull 
*         Drudge  to  waste  the 

Force 
That  might  have  made  a 

Golfer,  till  the  Source 
Of  Golf  be  dried  — and  Life 

grow  all  too  brief 
To   top  a   Ball    around  the 
Ladies'  Course! 


LXXI 

TTET,  ah,  that  Golf  should 

*      vanish  with  the  green! 

What  noble  matches  Winter 

might  have  seen; 
And  in  Old  Age  what  glo- 
rious Hazards  foil'd, 
What  Zest  of  painful  Pleas- 
ures might  have  been! 


LXXII 

T  T  TOULD  but  the  dim  Face 

^*      of  old  Winter  yield 

One  glimpse  of  green,  like 

Youth  to  Age  reveal'd, 
Thro*  which  once  more  the 
failing  Limbs  might 
spring 

As  springs  the   trampled 
Herbage  of  the  Field. 


AH!  with  the  Green  my 
^^    fading  life  provide, 
Some  ancient  golfing  Crony 

by  my  side: 
Content  to  play  one  Round, 

or,  meeker  still, 
To  mix  a  gentle  Foursome 
satisfied. 


*T*AT  even  the  wavering 
Remnant  of  the  Swing 

May  bear  some  witness  to 

my  virtuous  Spring, 
And  leave  no  True-believer 
passing-by 

Unedified    by  its   Admon- 
ishing. 


LXXV 

OULD  but  the  god  of 
Golfers  ere  too  late 
Arrest    the   sure -advancing 

step  of  Fate, 
What  matter  if  we  play  the 

Odd  or  Like? 

Or — if  we  play — hole  out  in 
Four  or  Eight? 


Content  while 
Dormie 


LXXVII 

f\R  if  ev'n  this  be  taken, 

^•^    you  and  I 

May  still  fare  onward  calmly, 

honestly, 
Nor  care  how  many  Down 

the  Record  stand: 
The  Match  is  over— Let  us 

play  the  Bye! 


LXXVIII 

TTON  rising  Moon  that 

•*•      leads  us  Home  again, 

How  oft  hereafter  will    she 

wax  and  wane; 
How   oft   hereafter   rising 

wait  for  us 

At  this  same  Turning— and 
for  One  in  vain. 


LXXIX 

A  ND  when,  like   her,-  my 
•"•    Golfer,  I  have  been 
And  am  no  more  above  the 

pleasant  Green, 
And  you  in  your  mild  Jour- 
ney pass  the  Hole 
I  made  in  One— ah!  pay  my 
Forfeit  then! 

TAMAM 


a 

. 


